


On Being Blankety

by triedunture



Category: Jeeves & Wooster
Genre: Blanket Fic, Frottage, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-11
Updated: 2018-11-11
Packaged: 2019-08-21 20:06:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16583237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/triedunture/pseuds/triedunture
Summary: Heat goes out. Oh no. : )





	On Being Blankety

**Author's Note:**

> Importing this from Dreamwidth as it was somehow left behind! Not new but maybe new to you.

It was a combination of the following factors that awoke one Wooster, B. (namely, me) in the middle of a cold December night:  
  
1\. Everything from the tips of the Wooster toes to the Wooster ankles had gone numb due to the frigid air, despite the heaps of bedclothes I was currently snuggled under.  
  
2\. The Wooster nose, which is by no means a small specimen, had turned into something approaching an icicle, having no protection at all from said bedclothes.  
  
3\. The iciness at both ends of the Wooster body had caused the whole willowy frame to be wracked with shivers.  
  
4\. Perhaps the most obvious contribution to the wakeful state, there appeared to be a steady knocking on the front door.  
  
I blearily thought of getting out of bed to see what this was all about, this ruckus in addition to the bitter weather, I mean, but the quiet whisper of Jeeves' voice answered the door before I could even remember where I might find my slippers. The muffled voices at the door weren't clear, but I heard the door shut after a few moments of hushed back-and-forth. I sensed more than heard Jeeves' light footfalls on the carpet that led down the hallway.  
  
Normally, I would have happily drifted back to sleep, knowing that whatever the matter had been, Jeeves had taken care of it in his usual deft manner. However, aforementioned items 1 through 3 were preventing me from getting my full eight or nine hours. My bare feet in particular were just aching with the cold. I nudged a thoughtful toe against the hot water bottle that Jeeves had placed between my bedsheets that evening; it was as chilled as a pitcher of lemon squash.  
  
That would not do. I dragged myself from the sheets and wrapped my dressing gown round my shivering frame; mashed my numb toes into my house slippers; and retrieved the uselessly arctic hot water bottle from the bed.  
  
I considered attempting to fill the bally thing myself, but the fact that Jeeves was so recently awake and probably could do it in a much more efficient way made me decide to toddle down the hall to the valet's lair to seek his assistance. I didn't make a habit of knocking on Jeeves' door; it was my policy to allow my valet some privacy, a room of his own, so to speak. Yet desperate times called for desperate measures, and I found myself rapping at the door to the valet's quarters accordingly.  
  
Jeeves answered the door wearing two dressing gowns, a grey one layered over a mauve one. I did my level best to ignore this sartorial misstep, as surely it was just a figment of my sleep-addled brain.  
  
'Jeeves, I was wondering if you could possibly--' I sucked in a sudden gasp as a wave of frigid air hit me full force. My breath misted in front of my very lips. The little hairs on my arms and the back of my neck stood on end, and goose flesh rippled through my frame. 'Jeeves, your room is positively freezing!' I exclaimed.  
  
'Yes, sir.' Jeeves' breath ghosted from his lips as well, a small cloud of white that dissipated in the chilled air after a moment. 'That was the night doorman at the front door just now, sir. He wished to inform me that the furnace was malfunctioning and would not be heating the building tonight.' Jeeves rubbed his hands together absent-mindedly. 'My quarters face east, hence the extreme chill that pervades them.'  
  
Yet another thing that would not do. 'Well, even one as stalwart and uncomplaining as you, Jeeves, can't be expected to pass the night in an icebox, what?' I gestured for him to leave the room for the hallway. 'Come on now.'  
  
'I assure you I am not yet at the maximum threshold of discomfort, sir. However, if you would like me to refill your hot water bottle--?' Jeeves raised a meaningful eyebrow at the rubber object in my other hand.  
  
'Yes, you may.' I handed the useless thing over to him. 'And once you've finished, you may place both it and yourself in the master bedroom, Jeeves.'  
  
Jeeves stood even more ramrod straight in the doorway, if such a thing were possible. I suppose it might have been a twitch, a shiver from the extreme cold. 'Sir?' Jeeves said, a puff of frosty air escaping his mouth as if to form the word itself.  
  
I paused to consider that perhaps this offer was somewhat on the strange side. I mean to say, I don't think many of my acquaintances at the Drones Club would think of their valets' comfort on a freezing cold night, and surely none of them would ever extend a generous hand to warm said valet in their own rooms. But Jeeves is unlike other valets; it is imperative you understand this. In all the years he's served as my personal gentleman, I've come to look upon him as a sort of guide, an ally, and perhaps, yes, perhaps even a friend. And if this Wooster was to be quite plain about it, I would rather be known as the bird-brained employer that allowed a valet to sleep in his bed when the thermometer was reading ten below than as the employer who said, in the same circs., 'Sweet dreams, then! Hope you live through the night!' So I puffed out my chest and defended my position.  
  
'It's not toasty in my room by any means, but it's a sight warmer than in here.' I wrapped my slight arms round my chilled body and hopped from foot to foot to keep the blood circulating. A puffed chest sapped the strength, I suppose. 'I don't wish to find a valet-cicle awaiting me in the morning, anyway. Now, what's the word; are you coming or not?'  
  
Jeeves swept past me like an ice-encrusted Viking ship. 'I believe I might have a more reasonable solution, sir. Allow me to build a fire in the sitting room, and we might warm ourselves there.'  
  
I shuffled slowly behind Jeeves, stifling a mighty yawn. Glancing at the grandfather clock that stood in the corner of the hall, I could see it was well past midnight. 'I suppose the sitting room might be all right, but I'd rather not sit. Supine is what I'd like to be, though I cannot speak for you.'  
  
'I will see what I can do, sir,' Jeeves said, and floated about the chilly flat like a winter zephyr. He coaxed the crackling fire to life in the grate, brewed some tea for me to sip in the interim, filled more hot water bottles, moved the chaise lounge close to the fireplace, and heaped blankets and the duvet from my own bed upon it.  
  
I barely had time to blink before it was all completed: a cosy little nest in front of the fire. At Jeeves' direction, I settled in amongst the thick blankets and hot water bottles and wrapped myself up tight, the empty teacup abandoned on the floor. I stretched my legs along the length of the chaise, my frozen feet pointed toward the cheery fire. I gave a happy sigh and reclined into the pillows.  
  
I was nearly ready to drift off again when I noticed Jeeves was trickling out of the room.  
  
'Jeeves?' I called.  
  
'Yes, sir?' Jeeves paused in his exit, still somehow professional even in his preposterous layered dressing gowns.  
  
'You're not going back to your room, are you?' I beetled over to make a space on the cushion. 'Sit here, Jeeves. There's no need for the both of us to be cold.'  
  
Jeeves seemed to hesitate for a moment before clearing his throat softly. 'I would not wish to impose, sir. I do not feel the cold as keenly as some.'  
  
'I really must insist,' I said, renting asunder a portion of my protective blankets and holding one arm aloft like a bird offering a safe haven beneath its wing. 'Do come here, Jeeves.'  
  
Like a stubborn donkey of some regal species, Jeeves stayed his ground.  
  
I sighed. 'The cold air is making me rather chilly again. Please do get under here before bits of frost begin to form.'  
  
And so Jeeves slid delicately into the little cocoon I had fashioned, and I quickly bundled up again. The chaise was really only built for one person, and Jeeves is not a small chap by any definition, so I found myself quite squashed up against my valet as we stretched out beside each other. Because my ears were beginning to feel like tiny chips of ice, I tossed the blankets over our heads so that we were completely covered. The cave-like environment is the best way to conserve heat, in this Wooster's opinion.  
  
Now that I was pressed against Jeeves' solidness, I couldn't help the yelp that escaped my lips. 'Jeeves, you're like solid ice!' I sputtered. A firm grasp of the valet's hands proved they were as cold as if they'd been plunged into snow. I rubbed them furiously between my own palms and hoped my warmth could overcome the chill.  
  
'Really, sir, it is nothing.' Jeeves attempted to pull away, but I held firm. When two men of iron will such as ourselves coexist in close proximity, one learns to pick one's battles and not lose ground where it counts.  
  
So I bally well ignored him. 'It's a wonder you didn't freeze to death. I won't have people murmuring behind my back, "Wooster must be a positively Scrooge-like employer!"'  
  
Jeeves remained still and didn't say anything at all to that. I carried on my self-appointed task of warming him. After a matter of minutes, a gentle heat began to build under the covers, and my toes and fingers came back to life, the spell of the cold being lifted. Even Jeeves' chilly atmosphere was waning; a small amount of warmth, nothing compared to the heat of the fire at my feet, could be felt through his pyjamas and dressing gowns. It was most enjoyable and liable to make one drowsy. My hands slowed in their ministrations, and I felt my eyelids droop.  
  
'Jeeves, would you think it less than white of me if I drifted off to sleep?' I murmured against Jeeves' shoulder, as I was awfully tired.  
  
'No, sir. If you are comfortable, you should rest.' The voice rumbled through Jeeves' chest, more vibration than sound to my ears.  
  
'You won't get up and return to your frigid quarters, will you?' I said in a drowsy slur. 'Would be cold without you, you know.'  
  
Jeeves cleared his throat. 'I will stay, sir.'  
  
'Good man,' I sighed, a moist puff of air under the covers, and let sleep pull me under his black cloak (one of Jeeves' gags, I think).  
  
I awoke again to the sound of the grandfather clock in the hall chiming three times. The flat was still and quiet, and there was not a sound except the wind whistling against the windowpane. For a moment, I was so lost under the pile of blankets that I didn't remember where I was or why I was currently wrapped round another sleeping person. A few ticks of the clock and my heart-racing panic died down; I remembered that it was Jeeves next to me, and that the furnace had given its final goodbye that night.  
  
I snuffled my way out of the afghans and blankets that covered my face to have a look; the fire in the grate had died down to a few glowing embers, and the room was growing chilly again. The creeping cold must have woken me, I reasoned, and I turned to face Jeeves once more, who was swathed in the folds of our bedclothes.  
  
In sleep, it appeared that we had burrowed closer to each other for warmth. The young master's legs were now all tangled up in Jeeves' and Jeeves had an arm thrown over my shoulders. My valet's face was lax in sleep, his dark brows and pale lips released from their normal stuffed-frog sternness. His ebony hair was tousled from all the wriggling I had probably done under the blankets. And most beguiling, Jeeves' eyelashes fluttered slightly, betraying a great mind locked deep in a dream. He looked almost, I suppose, like a human being.  
  
I threw the blankets over my head once more, unable to keep my uncovered nose from aching with the cold, and tucked myself once more into the curve of Jeeves' arm. I wriggled about in an attempt to regain a comfortable position, and Jeeves' hand tightened on my shoulder. A small, unintelligible noise escaped Jeeves' lips. It was not unlike the noise you might hear a feverish child utter in the midst of a dream. If it had been anyone else, I would have called it a whimper.  
  
Of course, valets do not whimper.  
  
I watched Jeeves' face with nothing but the faint glow of the fire's remnants through the blankets' weave to light the way. Wreathed in shadow and bathed in the weak light, Jeeves slept deeply, his lashes twitching against his alabaster cheeks like a pallid bust of someone-or-other. Not that pallid busts twitch, mind you, but it was the chiseled features and dignified calm of the visage that called to my mind marble statuary. Perhaps my mind was still wading in the murky waters of sleep, or perhaps I was truly worried that Jeeves might still be too cold, but I reached out a tentative hand and ran my fingertips down his square jaw.  
  
Like a cat turning lazily into a petting hand, Jeeves turned his face into my palm, his breath ghosting along my wrist.  
  
This seems like an appropriate time to state some more facts. You will recall I lectured you earlier in this narrative about the specialness of Jeeves and the unique relations that had developed between us? Not merely master and man, I mean? It was only a few pages back, I believe. Feel free to reread if it has slipped your mind. I often find myself flipping back to previous chapters in my Rex West mysteries to ensure I've gotten all the clues right.  
  
Well, the fact is, when I say Jeeves and I have gone beyond the bounds of normal valet-gentleman relations into friendship, what I really mean to say is I  _hoped_  we had. Gone on to friendship, I mean. And. Well. If it were up to me, which it most decidedly was not, we would go beyond that as well. To something more. To-- Dash it all, sometimes even I wasn't sure what I meant when I thought these things. All I could say for certain is my sense of chivalry wasn't the only thing that made me offer Jeeves a warm bed that night. I admit there was a tiny speck of selfishness in the Wooster breast, a speck that desired to feel Jeeves close and would use anything as an excuse.  
  
My hand slid from his jaw.  
  
But that was an awful, terrible, wretched thing to think, and I stopped thinking it before my hand could creep up Jeeves' jaw to tangle in his hair or perhaps touch him lightly on his majestic brow. I curled my hand into a fist and let it fall in the empty space between our two chests. It was a moment of weakness, if I was going to be honest, that made me even consider forcing Jeeves into such close quarters with myself. Weakness and base stupidity. My eyes burned with a sudden surge of shame, and I shut them.  
  
'I'm sorry, Jeeves,' I whispered in the warm little cavern under the blankets, my voice muffled to nearly nothing. I nuzzled my still-chilled nose into the folds of the blankets under us and resolved to go back to sleep and keep my bally hands to myself.  
  
'Mmm,' Jeeves sighed, and for a moment I thought he had awakened, for his arm tightened round my shoulders. But his eyes were still shut in sleep and his chest rose and fell with calm night-breathing. He pulled me close and tucked me against his chest like one would a beloved stuffed toy from the golden years of childhood. Why, I myself had kept a very charming stuffed llama when I was still in curls and sailor suits. Perhaps Jeeves was harking back to such times in his dreams and treating the Wooster corpus as his own personal teddy bear or rag doll or what have you.  
  
Whatever the reason, I found myself firmly ensconced in Jeeves' embrace, with both his arms wrapped round me and my face pressed against his warm chest. My feet, which had tossed off their house slippers in the middle of the night, twined with his in a way that made me wonder if our ankles had been molded specially for the occasion. I felt my cheeks flush from more than the sudden rush of shared body heat; I could smell all the little scents that made up Jeeves, and each was more wonderful and dizzying than the last: minty brilliantine, the cedar of his wardrobe, the faded sharpness of aftershave, the smoke from his gaspers, the fresh cleanliness of his dressing gown, the way his sleep-warm skin smelled under the covers. Everything else in the whole world was blotted from my senses, and there was only Jeeves and the little warm spot under the blankets.  
  
And I hated it, knowing this would only last until Jeeves awoke and released me, and things went back to normal.  
  
I shut my eyes again and told myself to sleep, dash it. Unfortunately, my hands had become trapped between Jeeves' sternum and my own, and they appeared to be in danger of being crushed if I didn't remove them. So I freed them with a bit of finagling, but then found I had no good place to put them. They hovered somewhere in the valley created by our bodies, and I finally decided the only handhold at my disposal was Jeeves himself, and that if Jeeves was holding me, perhaps it wouldn't be so terrible to return to favour, provided I didn't allow my hands to stray anywhere unseemly.  
  
My left hand alighted on Jeeves' hip, which didn't seem to have the dual dressing gowns covering it anymore; they had apparently been shucked half-off in sleep just like my slippers, leaving only his flannel pyjamas covering his hips. My right arm wormed its way under Jeeves' neck, acting as a sort of pillow for him, and my right hand curled over his shoulder. We were like a pair of octopuses locked up with all our limbs. I rested my head back on Jeeves' chest and sighed quietly.  
  
One might think I was cheering rather heartily on the inside, but the fact of the matter is I couldn't help but despair. There was no way for me to take pleasure in the current circs. lest an awkward physical reaction, well, arise. For those female readers who may not be well-versed in the male anatomy, I am sorry to be so vague but this is really something you should be learning from your Nan or your good mother, what? Suffice to say, I had to lie there and think unpleasant thoughts, like lunching with aunts or taking a walk in the country with Madeline Basset. I couldn't even allow myself to fall asleep, as the danger of acting on my inner passions while in the throes of some dream was far too great.  
  
However, I wasn't the one I should have been worried about.  
  
Jeeves let out another breathy sigh, right into my ear, mind you, and executed a sort of full-body undulation from his toes all the way to his neck. He murmured something that might have been 'Ahh' or quite possibly 'Ohh' against my cheek. His grip on my frame tightened even more, and his fingers dug into my shoulder and lower back. I was pulled to him so forcefully, I couldn't help but notice that the portion of anatomy that I had been so worried about on my own person was, on Jeeves' person, dashed rigid.  
  
I didn't know what to do, or even if I  _could_ ; Jeeves was even taller than myself and possessed a great deal more in the way of mass. He had me outnumbered in terms of muscle, and I was unsure if my struggles, should there be any, could bear any fruit at all. Add the way that Jeeves was pressing himself against my hip, and I was a fairly ineffective mound of jelly, really.  
  
I summoned up what strength I had and craned my neck back to stare at his shadow-lined face: his eyes were still closed. Still asleep. Still dreaming of some beautiful woman, perhaps a starlet from a theatre show. And here I was, keeping my mouth buttoned up like a mute. I clutched at Jeeves' nightclothes and considered my options. There seemed to me to be two: allow Jeeves to continue rutting against me and perhaps feel the hot flood of his completion against my leg, or open my mouth and give a loud enough 'I say!' to wake my sleeping valet. Both had their positives and negatives, but in the end it was the dashed Code that made me open my lips. A true gentleman would not allow this to continue if the other party was not in full possession of all the mental capabilities.  
  
So as much as it pained me, I-sayed right into Jeeves' ear, though it did come out a bit more squeaky than usual. When that didn't seem to produce any reaction other than a throaty groan from Jeeves, I said it again louder: 'I say, Jeeves!'  
  
His eyes fluttered open, and he gazed at me in the dark under the blankets, though his hips continued their slow press against me. 'Yes?' he whispered.  
  
'You're dreaming, Jeeves,' I gasped. I couldn't help the unmanly crack in my voice.  
  
'Yes,' he murmured. And the blighter actually dipped his head and kissed the skin of my throat, effectively strangling all my protests. I had heard of sleep-walking and even sleep-talking (Ginger had always muttered things about prawns in his sleep when we shared a room at school), but leave it to Jeeves to be the only chap in the world with the affliction of sleep-lovemaking.  
  
Tears stung my eyes. His mouth was moving so sweetly across my skin, it physically pained me to stop its progress. But I threaded my fingers into the soft hair at the back of Jeeves' head and tugged gently.  
  
'Jeeves. Please. You must stop.'  
  
His lips fell away from my neck only to brush softly against my cheek. 'Must I?' he breathed. 'You smell so wonderful.'  
  
The anguish that bubbled inside me was too much. I wrenched my hand into his hair and pulled hard enough to cause his head to snap up. 'Jeeves! Stop this!'  
  
All at once I felt the languid sleep-movements leave Jeeves' body to be replaced by a cold tension. His eyes blinked twice before becoming clear and unclouded, and he looked at me in abject horror. I released my hold on his hair to wipe a wayward drop of moisture from my eye.  
  
'Oh my Lord,' he said.  
  
'You were dreaming, Jeeves,' I said hoarsely.  
  
'Oh my Lord,' he repeated, perhaps the only time Jeeves has ever been at a loss for words. 'Sir, I--'  
  
'It wasn't your fault, of course. One can't be held accountable for what one does when under that certain cove's spell. Who am I thinking of? Midas? Morpheus?' I wiped my sleeve across my hot, wet face, positive I looked a mess but trying to keep my tone light. For Jeeves' sake, I didn't wish for any awkwardness to descend between us.  
  
'Sir, did I--? Are you hurt, sir?' Jeeves rested his hands flat against my chest as if to check me for wounds. But the only one I felt was a deep longing for his warm embrace.  
  
'I'm fine, Jeeves. Perfectly unruffled, I assure you,' I said in halting syllables.  
  
Jeeves regarded me in the dark, his eyes huge and glimmering in the last of the dying firelight. 'I wish I knew how to apologise, sir. Your distress is understandable, and if there's anything I might do or say to put things right...'  
  
I waved a hand in the small space underneath the blankets. 'Nothing to apologise for, Jeeves. I can't fault you for wanting some lucky filly to hold on a cold night, what?'  
  
Jeeves' brow furrowed. 'Sir?'  
  
'The, erm, dream. Presumably it is a lucky female who finds herself in a paragon's slumbering mind, is all I meant,' I stammered. I felt that perhaps a certain amount of obfu-whatsit was in order. The thing one does in order to divert attention, like in a magic trick. Obfuscation! That's the word I want! 'I often find myself dreaming of all sorts of chorus girls, you know. Yes, Jeeves, absolutely nothing strange about wanting, ah, that.' I wish I could say my tone was airy like a breeze, but it was rather like a sinking stone.  
  
Another hot tear dribbled its way down my face, and before I could snuff it out by rubbing my face against a blanket or a sleeve, Jeeves caught it on his fingertip. Just swept it off my cheek as if it were a speck of dust. He rubbed the wetness between his thumb and forefinger, a strange look on his face.  
  
'Sir, you are crying.'  
  
I attempted to force a smile on my lips and shout a gay laugh, but my throat constricted and I ended up burrowing my face into the pillows and blankets beneath my head. Of the two options, I had chosen the more difficult, the one that was going to cause me to lose everything and not even gain a few moments in Jeeves' arms. Nothing escapes Jeeves, you see. He was going to use all that power in his massive brain to come to the truth sooner or later, and that would be the end of Bertram W. Wooster's secret. Better to just get it over with, was my feeling.  
  
A warm hand touched my shoulder very gently before settling there. 'You must be frank with me, sir. If you--'  
  
'I love you!' I shouted into the pillow at the same moment Jeeves said, '--know I love you--'  
  
There are some moments in stage plays where the scales fall from the players' eyes and all is resolved within moments.  
  
This was not one of those times. I mean to say, what?  
  
'You what?' I asked.  
  
'You do?' Jeeves asked.  
  
'What? When!?' I demanded.  
  
'Oh, sir. I thought--'  
  
We kept at this cross-talk for a few minutes until finally it got straightened out thusly: Jeeves had assumed that he had let slip that he had been dreaming about me, hence his unease upon waking, thinking that his own secret was out of the bag. And as for me, well, you know that side of things already and I filled Jeeves in accordingly. He was so relieved, I daresay he forgot himself and embraced me anew, his large, capable hand cupping the back of my head and holding me to him. I clung back with the same enthusiasm, and in moments we had resumed our octopus-like position.  
  
'You dreamt of me?' I asked into the heated skin of his neck.  
  
'I did, sir,' he confessed. 'In my dream I was like a fossil frozen in ice, and you kissed me to bring me to life again.' Jeeves ducked his head so I could not see his eyes. 'A fantastical notion, of course.'  
  
'Oh, I'm not so sure, Jeeves.' I pressed my lips to his mouth, which opened with the utmost tenderness under my touch. Our kiss grew from tentative to frenzied in a short space of time, and I tasted our sleep-tinged breath (which should have been more off-putting than it was) mingle between us. Suddenly, the temperature underneath the blankets skyrocketed and beads of sweat welled on my forehead, palms, and chest.  
  
'Jeeves,' I said quietly as if afraid to break a spell, 'I'm rather warm at the mo'. Would you mind--?'  
  
He peeled the pyjama shirt halfway down my shoulder like he'd suddenly forgotten the finer workings of buttons. I, too, scrambled to divest him of his clinging dressing gown sleeves, all this in the cramped space of the chaise cushions. This came as a bit of a shock to me. I knew from watching my friends at the Drones that falling in love was apt to turn one into a slavering idiot, but I had no idea it would affect the motor skills in much the same way. Even Jeeves, who was grace personified at the worst of times, had become something of a fumbler.  
  
I gave up on the disrobing and locked my shaky pins round Jeeves' hips in a way that brought our still-clothed intimate regions into shiveringly wonderful contact. Though it was through the layers of pyjama fabric, I couldn't have been more pleased.  
  
'I would like very much, Jeeves,' I gasped into the hollow of his throat, 'if you would continue in the vein in which you were occupied before you woke. Please, it feels so lovely.'  
  
While trying valiantly not to crush me into a squished pulp, Jeeves managed to say, 'But I want to pleasure you, sir. Will you take my hand, my mouth? Only tell me, and I will endeavour to bring you to your peak.'  
  
I pressed my body closer to Jeeves, rocking against him like the dickens now. 'You're doing more than enough, man! Just-- Oh, good Lord, more!'  
  
And that was how, for the first time, I was able to watch Jeeves' stuffed-frog facade crumble completely. With an animal snarl, he rolled us until he was right on top of me. The duvet and blankets were flung aside in the hullabaloo, and the refreshingly cool air played across my over-heated skin. Jeeves ground against me in a way that--  
  
Well. How shall I explain it to you, who could never know? There was power, obviously, that I could feel in his shoulders, coiled and knotted under my hands. There was passion lining his beautiful face and causing his eyes to close tightly. There was the smell of him, the heat of his body, and the not-quite-there feeling in my sleep-stained head that made me keep my eyes open and watch Jeeves' every move, in case this turned out to be nothing more than a dream.  
  
'This isn't a dream, is it, Jeeves?' I whispered as I arched beneath him.  
  
'If this is a dream, sir, I will refuse to wake.' He pressed his searing mouth to mine once more.  
  
I suppose those that only know Jeeves as Wooster's valet would be shocked to hear of him acting so scandalously. However, as someone well-versed in the study of Jeeveses, I can attest that I was not the least bit surprised to find Jeeves as adept at lovemaking as all other tasks he applied himself to. He was a poem in my arms: perfectly balanced and making the most exquisite sounds.  
  
I closed my eyes in bliss and wished it would last forever. But that would be an impossibility. (Chafing, for example, would become an issue.)  
  
It was I that first succumbed. I threw my head back over the edge of the chaise and lifted my hips one final time against Jeeves' magnificent body before heading for a strong finish. I clutched at Jeeves' strong shoulders, revealing in the way he held me so gently as I drifted back to earth. Minutes passed before I became conscious that I was panting beneath him like a hound after a difficult hunt, and his need was still pressed against my leg.  
  
But Jeeves was making no movement to relieve himself. He was merely cradling me in his arms and staring down at me with the most affectionate gaze I'd ever seen on his proud visage. Weak streetlights streamed through the curtains and lit the valleys of his face, giving him the look of a sculpted masterpiece.  
  
'Most awfully sorry, Jeeves,' I said, still winded. 'I was rather callous just then. Not even giving you a chance to catch up, I mean.'  
  
'No apologies necessary, sir,' Jeeves said. 'I quite enjoyed the spectacle.' His hips twitched the slightest bit against me, and Jeeves sighed with repressed pleasure, his eyes sliding shut. 'If I may, sir?' he pleaded, his eyes fluttering open again.  
  
I ran my bare foot up his ankle in a way that had them squeezing shut again. 'Proceed,' I directed with what I hoped was a seductive purr.  
  
Jeeves continued onward toward his own peak, rubbing against me in a slower, more intense fashion. My pyjamas were now sticky and damp; they clung to me as Jeeves pressed down into the cup of my hips, but I welcomed the slight discomfort as it gave way to the low static buzz of Jeeves gaining speed. His eyes opened wide and stared down at me, and my ridiculous smile slid from my lips. While Jeeves may not have been streaming tears or anything, one could see in those soul-windows that this, for Jeeves, was It. Truly hot stuff. The real Tabasco. The One True Thingummy.  
  
'Yes,' I said without pause. 'Oh, yes, Jeeves.' I carded my hands through his thick black hair, framing his face in my palms. 'I feel the same.'  
  
His forehead fell against mine, and he breathed into my open mouth. 'Oh, sir!' Jeeves gave a single final spasm, and I was rewarded in the end with that warm wetness on my lower belly. I daresay I relished the feeling, it was so toppingly sinful.  
  
We lay there, entwined on the disarranged pile of blankets, clothing, and pillows, too exhausted and drained to even move an inch. I listened to Jeeves heave the air in and out of his splendid chest, and I idly drew my fingers along the back of his neck.  
  
And while Jeeves regained his ability to breathe normally, I wondered how difficult it would be to see that the furnace was permanently disabled so that I might spend every night like this, curled close to Jeeves in a nest of bedclothes, sharing body heat and dreamy touches.  
  
I smiled to myself.  
  
It could be arranged, I decided.   
  
  
  
fin.


End file.
